(Not) Who You Are
by Accidentally The Whole Fanfic
Summary: As far as she's concerned, her hands are still stained - and she can't help but constantly ask herself if they ever really had to be. Post-Anniversary.


(Not) Who You Are

* * *

She's finally home.

The antiques are all unpacked and set neatly about the manor - proudly and carefully displayed, just as instructed. Her bags are unpacked as well, Winston has seen to her comfort, and she can once again kick off her boots and flop facedown onto her bed in complete absence of the grace and elegance for which she's generally known.

Yet, even as she rests, she can't quite sleep. When she does sleep, it's completely restless. While she's used to running on an odd schedule - or none at all, really - it's nonetheless taking its toll on her body and mind, the latter in particular. She's been back at her beautiful, safe home for a few weeks now, with just Winston and her thoughts for company - the last place on Earth she wants to be at the moment.

 _You've got your job; I've got mine. I'll take it from here._

Awake or asleep, she sees his face again and again - twisting with rage as she fires, yet ultimately slackening in death. As she gets up and slips on her swimsuit and bathrobe, making her way out to her newly-renovated pool room, her soft footfalls sound as loud as the gunshots she wants to forget. Hearing the crickets still crying out in the early dawn, she wonders if they, too are accusing her. Judging her. Mourning him.

 _You're here because you belong here, Lara._

Her jaw sets, and she removes her robe and slippers, setting them on the lounging chair. High above her, hues of deep blue peek through the windows, barely aiding the soft, recessed lighting within the massive room. The surface of the pool is as sleek and still as glass, and she pauses to stretch, loosening up her muscles with practiced ease. She approaches the pool and kneels down, disturbing the surface with a series of small ripples as she tests the temperature. Wonderfully cool. Absolutely perfect.

She prepares to rise and head for the high dive, but her darkened reflection gives her pause - she looks absolutely haggard. Worn down. Almost dead, and she finds that she now knows all too well what that truly looks like. Her gaze seems distant, hollow. She wonders if it's just the lack of sleep, or...

 _Don't be absurd! No job is worth dying for!_

... _Hardly any reason it can't be both,_ she decides, opting instead to merely sit by the edge of the pool. Her legs slip into the water, swirling it around with her feet and craning her neck to look out the windows. A lighter shade of blue greets her now, and she swears she can almost see the faintest glow of deep gold edging it ever upwards. It's a beautiful sight.

And she's here to see it.

And he's not.

 _Because you took that chance from him, didn't you?_

Her legs still, and her breath hitches in her throat. There it is, once again. Every so often, it surfaces - she tries to bury it deep within her, drown it, and it still bobs to the surface in due time. She can vigorously dive into her research as a distraction and continue to pursue her cause; she can sweat the pain and anger out in her gym; she can wander the topiary maze she knows by heart, hoping she can outrun her guilt and leave it lost in there forever, never to find her again.

None of it works particularly well, in the end.

For a moment, she remembers fleeing Atlantis, the Great Pyramid exploding behind her. She remembers that brief moment where it seemed to her that she'd come to terms with it all, accepted it, and put it behind her.

Yet, here she is now, flooded with doubt.

 _Look inside yourself, Lara. Your heart is as black as mine!_

"It is _not,_ " she whispers fiercely, her voice coming out as a guttural growl. She sounds like a monster - and she briefly remembers the way his face had twisted with rage when she'd made her intentions clear. She can't help but wonder how inhuman she herself had looked to him as she'd advanced like a horror movie villain, firing savagely.

 _Because I_ had _to. I had to, or he'd have..._

 _He'd have..._

And she finds she can't complete that thought, because the film reel of her memory begins projecting the scenes in her head, as if she were viewing them from outside of herself.

 _Face it, you got no business here._

Not a threat. Just a clear suggestion. _We don't have to hurt each other._

 _I hope Natla sent you here with more than that shotgun,_ she says coolly, finding herself back by the tunnel to Qualopec's tomb.

He sneers at her, tensing himself for the fight. _Don't sweat it, kitten. I prefer a more hands-on approach!_

And he'd swung first. He'd been the first to draw his firearm when all else failed, when she just wouldn't be subdued. When they'd faced off that second and final time... it had been self-defense then, too, hadn't it? She'd drawn first, fired first - but she'd also had clear reason to believe he was still a threat when they'd met up again in the mines. Hadn't she?

She hears his shotgun go off in her mind as she flees from him and Natla's other henchmen. A clear, easy shot. Yet, he'd still missed; he hadn't even grazed her. She'd escaped the Sanctuary of the Scion with her life intact. How could he have missed?

Why _would_ _he have missed?_ she wonders, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she tries to pretend the answer isn't as clear as the colorful sky starting to paint the large room between the murky shadows.

 _Sorry, darlin'. This is the end of the line._

And she'd warned him.

 _C'mon, Lara, I just work here._

What other choice had he left her?

 _Now I know how bad you want this, but I can't let you pass._

He'd known how badly she'd _needed_ it...hadn't he?

 _And we both know you're not gonna kill me for it._

Hadn't he known what was at stake?

That she'd needed it because...

Because Natla was...

 _Because... I..._

Screwing her eyes shut and shaking her head, she tries to fling the thought away. No. Because of Natla, first and foremost. Her own personal intentions hadn't mattered by then, had they? Because Natla had been on the verge of doing something dangerous. Because the world's welfare had been at stake.

 _It's really quite nice to have that convenient excuse, isn't it?_ a nasty little voice in the back of her mind jeers, and she gets to her feet in defiance, leaving the little voice behind her on the wet floor. Walking almost mechanically, she tries to push the thoughts away - into nice little boxes, to be stored and unpacked and examined later when she's good and _ready,_ and _certain_ \- and makes her way up to the high dive. A nice jolt to her body might shock her mind and soul clean.

 _The answers you've sought your entire life are within the Scion._

"And I left them there," she reminds herself firmly, once again giving her back and shoulder muscles a good stretch as she nears the end of the diving board. "Because I had to. Because it was the right thing to do."

 _And a_ monster _wouldn't have done the right thing._

The word stands out in deep crimson as she executes a perfect swan dive into the pool, the splash echoing loudly in the vast room, and the chill of the water slapping her fully awake. For a few moments, she finds herself content to stay at the bottom of the pool as long as she can. To try and wash it all away. Lift the stains that her conscience splashed upon her hands, endlessly scrubbed raw and pink. Scrub the disgusting film coating her conscience, cleanse the dirt from her black heart.

 _That blood on your hands, do you believe it was spilled for the good of all man, or for your own selfish desire?!_

She finally surfaces with a grateful inhale of fresh air, letting the water flow in rivulets down her back and shoulders, and she begins to circle the perimeter of the pool in a lazy backstroke. High above, the blue is slowly melted away by a vivid glow of orange, pink, violet, and yellow.

The sight reminds her of the times she would occasionally get up early to watch the sunrise with her mother and father - usually, at least once per trip whenever they'd visited somewhere far away. She'd always been eager to see the sun gradually color in the different parts of the world, and fondly remembers the countryside of Japan in particular.

Reaching the corner of the pool once more, she props her folded arms on the edge to pause and take a little rest.

 _Would it be bothering you this much had it been Pierre?_ she asks herself out of the blue. _Or_ anyone _else?_

She finds she doesn't quite know the answer to that - she only knows that she isn't as upset that she had to take Natla's life.

And she wonders if there's anyone back in Texas, or anywhere else in America, in the _world_ , who's been worried sick about Larson - running about, shouting, "Where is he? What's happened to him? Is he okay?!" Friends, family...

She pictures grieving, frantic parents awaiting contact from their beloved child, and shudders. A brother or sister or colleague collapsing into a sobbing ball when they somehow learn of his demise. A knot forms in her throat. Experiencing it the way she had was hard enough, as it was. Had the black-hearted monster ruthlessly torn a son from a caring father, a doting mother, a grandparent who had spoiled him rotten? Was a close friend left heartbroken and confused, not knowing what sort of news to await? He'd never said. She'd never bothered to find out. They really hadn't had the time, nor the proper opportunity.

Swallowing hard, she shakes her head. Regardless of all the supposition, the what-ifs - he'd made those choices, taken the path that led to his grave. He'd made those choices when he'd decided to attack first, knowing full well she was armed and prepared to fight back. They all had. Larson, Pierre, Kold, Kid, Natla...

 _And... me..._

The encounter in the mines won't leave her head, despite her rationalizations. Everything that happened there clashes with the encounter outside of Qualopec's tomb, where he'd been willing and ready to attack first, leaving her on the defense as he escalated to using deadly force. He'd been prepared to kill if he had to, even without his hand forced by Lara. Hadn't he?

 _That's just not who you are._

 _But was that who_ you _were?_ she asks the ghost, pulling herself out of the pool once again and turning to sit on the edge. She hugs her knees tight to her chest, watching the specks and particles of color dance and flash on the broken surface. _Who_ were _you, exactly, Larson?_ Another question lingers on the forefront of her mind, and Natla opts to answer it for her.

 _That's who_ you _are._

She squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth. Larson had found out first-hand just how wrong _he'd_ been.

But did that mean Natla had been right?

 _No. It doesn't_ have _to._

Setting her chin on her knees, she narrows her eyes. A monster wouldn't be feeling so torn, so conflicted, so sick with remorse. Someone with a black heart wouldn't fearfully envision so much red staining their hands like some sort of horrific birthmark, declaring her destiny as a born murderer.

They're both wrong, she decides.

She's willing to kill to survive, to ensure that if someone is willing to harm her, she'll do her damnedest to fight back. She isn't willing to kill _just_ to kill.

The Scion had been destroyed - and maybe she'd pursued its secrets for her own selfish desires, to locate and reunite with a woman who had been unjustly spirited away from her family in Lara's youth. Yet, leaving it to Natla's hands would have spelled disaster for many more.

 _So why can't it be both?_ she wonders bitterly, legs slipping back in the water to kick at it. As if it's responsible for the rage and sorrow clenching her heart like a vise. As if it's just as guilty as she is. _Maybe my intentions were selfish. But there was something much greater at risk. And I put a stop to that, no matter what I had to do. I put a_ stop _to that._

She pauses her kicking.

 _And... he had to have known that. He said the Scion belonged to Natla. He said it had nothing to do with me. What could he have_ possibly _known about_ any _of that if he hadn't known what was going on?_

Her eyes slide shut, and she feels something odd in her chest. As though something's being lifted with the revelation.

 _However much he knew about her intentions... he knew enough that he knew which side he'd picked, and held fast to it. Perhaps he hadn't realized how it would have turned out, and I'm still the one who pulled the trigger when it comes down to it, but... if he had realized what was going to happen had he gone along with Natla's plans, then..._

She shakes her head, stopping short of mentally incriminating or exonerating Larson - for better or for worse, they each chose their own paths as much as each others', overall. Maybe neither of them had been fully prepared to face the realities of it all until it was too late. But here she is now, facing it, and coming to terms with it.

Maybe her shoulders are still a little heavier than they should be. Maybe the diminished guilt still gnaws at her, as it will for a good, long while. Maybe she'll never truly ever get used to it - if she even has to. And somewhere, deep in her heart, she knows she ultimately _will_ have to, if she wants to keep going down the path she's chosen. She's come too far just to leave it behind now due to the fear of having to spill more blood, due to the remorse for the blood she's already had to spill. If she turns back now, it will all have been for nothing.

Still, for now, it'll have to do. To help her sleep at night, to stop questioning her own humanity. And so, it is enough for her to accept for now - enough relief. Enough liberation. Enough comfort. It's also enough self-loathing, shame, guilt...

 _No, I'm not who_ either _of you thought I was,_ she decides firmly.

She tilts her head back and smiles a bit, allowing herself to be bathed in the light of the sunrise that Larson had been prepared to take from her. She basks in it for herself, deciding to leave any further swimming for just a bit later. A little part of her wants to enjoy it for his sake, too - and so she does. While she's still coming to terms with accepting Larson's culpability in his own death as well, she finds that - in an odd way - it's the least she can do for him, even if she really has no obligation. A small, perhaps selfish and pointless act of contrition, to assuage her own guilt as much as to honor him. Would he have done the same for her?

Perhaps, perhaps not.

And she hopes that someday - perhaps when she's once more at peace with herself, at least as much as her conscience will allow - she can finally watch another sunrise with her mother by her side, and honestly tell herself at that point that it was all worth it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I haven't written for Tomb Raider since I was a kid! God, the time flies by. But, after recently getting back into the series, this idea came to me following _Anniversary._ I'm particularly fond of the _Legend/Anniversary/Underworld_ Lara (especially due to the excellent voice work by Keeley Hawes), and while I feel _Anniversary_ overdid it just a _little_ bit with the "these hands have killed" routine, there was something about it that really hooked me. It made me wonder how Lara coped with it in the aftermath of her adventure to retrieve the Scion - she seems to accept it at the end, but I can't help but think she wrestled with it a little more than that afterward. Obviously, she's come to terms with the idea by the time _Legend_ rolls around.

Plus, Lara Croft - in any of her incarnations - has always been one of my favorite fictional characters. So getting into her head was fun and a bit intense, albeit a little difficult. Hopefully, I did justice to that.

First time writing in present tense, so hopefully I pulled that off well, too. Feel free to leave a review, if you'd like, and thanks for reading!


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